


Emerald City

by Cyrelia_J



Series: Scenes from OZ [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prison, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: After an unsuccessful coup, Megatron and the rest of the Decepticons he leads are imprisoned on a newly built maximum security prison on one of Cybertron's moons. Optimus Prime thinks they can be "rehabilitated". The rest of the Autobots aren't so sure. The Decepticons just dare them to try.This is the beginning/introduction of a series of drabbles from different points in this universe, and anyone is welcome to borrow this stuff to play around.Just a warning, this part is general in nature but others will likely feature various slash pairings





	Emerald City

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason a while back I was hung up on the idea of crossing everything over with OZ since it's one of my favorite shows. This kind of came to me and a friend and I RPed a bit but didn't do too much else with it. I figured I'd polish up and share the results for anyone curious for a glimpse of this weird little experiment.

The coup had been the greatest triumph he ever could have imagined. Sentinel Prime dead, the Senate in chaos, and Megatron poised and ready to seize control. Had he only counted on one lone soldier rising from the conflagration to rally the scattered Autobot forces he might have sat at the head of government now.  He could still taste the victory snatched from his hands that day as they were driven back, their army in ruins; betrayed from within b one of their own. To this day he has innumerable suspects but none who he can truly swore to annihilate. Optimus Prime now ruled the great Cybertronian Empire- young, strong, but oh so foolish, Megatron thought as he looked over the crowd that day. They’d been rounded up like Sharkticons, hunted and captured once Iacon had fallen. And yet here he sat alive, for all intents and purposes... comfortable. He hated it.

“I refuse to martyr you,” Prime had declared, all knowing and wise from his judgement seat. “Not a one of you”. And next to him, Starscream had spat curses before being subdued. No, theirs was a far worse fate than death. He looked down at scarred hands, flexing them absently. His arm was far lighter without the fusion cannon. They’d stripped him of that. The lot of them had their weapon systems nullified: gelded as it were. Political prisoners, they’d been named- malcontents, dissidents. Whenever the press had come it was always the same hateful spin: how the Mighty Megatron had fallen, reduced to a life inside an electrically barricaded pen with the rest of the Decepticons. Universal peace, unity, freedom reigned. As if the Decepticons were the sole cause of the Cybertronian energon crisis, the wars with the Quintessons, everything that had ever gone wrong in their history. And so they were sent to OZ.

They called it “rehabilitation” or “psychology”. These were alien terms borrowed from the Autobots’ human allies. Optimus Prime had been intrigued by the concept; his head Medical Officer Ratchet was said to have been in awe of the treatments that the humans had boasted ended much of the strife on their planet. The Senate had naturally called for reprogramming. Prime, _weakling_ that he was, declared reprogramming barbaric, saying that it unthinkable to strip down the barest essence of a creature and mold him again in the image of the winning army. They weren’t gods, Prime had said. No, they were sniveling cowards was what they were. “Emerald City”, as it was named was Prime’s great social experiment. Assuming of course the ‘cons, penned up like animals in the high security facility didn’t kill each other first, the “therapy” sessions were supposed to “heal their damaged sparks”.

Megatron, shrewd, observant, had of course witnessed the battles that raged between Prowl, the head of OZ security and the head Medic Ratchet. He had thought once upon a time to simply deceive the seemingly naive doctor into their early release, however the doctor was far more shrewd than he’d ever have believed of a ‘bot. As he sipped at the high grade, heading the large table like a king of rats, he surveyed his “kingdom”. Soundwave excepted, he trusted none of them now. Too many of them believed themselves to be on equal footing in this miserable place. Starscream sat at the table of course, holding court with the seekers at the far end. His treacherous second had grown if anything, more ambitious since their incarceration firmly believing that had he headed the coup they would be seated in Iacon now, lords and masters of their Autobot captors.

The penal Colony on the largest of Cybertron’s moons was a far cry from home. The lesser gravity was a cruelty at times, almost giving an illusion of weightlessness, of flight. Of course their propulsion systems were disabled as were their COMs. Outside was a seemingly endless expanse of moon on foot, loosely guarded except for the port where the goods and the... visitors were received. There was an announcement over the PA at that moment and his lip components curled into a snarl as a “visitor” was announced for Starscream. Such foolishness. To think that some of them had grown so desperate for outside contact they’d entertain any miserable creature who paid them any mind. Starscream in particular...

“Another femme who thinks she can ‘save’ you, Starscream?” he sneered as Starscream rose with a proud toss of his head.

“Your scorn for my admirers is duly noted, Mighty Megatron,” he said with a mocking turn, leaving Megatron to watch his retreating back. 

Starscream felt the smirk at the corner of his mouth as he sauntered out of the communal room. Megatron and his brutish sycophants might jeer, but they were too crude to hold any true appreciation for the game that he played. Those femmes who had spent their entire lives sheltered in the capital knowing nothing of war, nothing of true savagery were a lot of endless possibility in the station which fostered their ignorance. _After all, ‘Lord’ Megatron, which one of us was it who had nearly escaped our captors since our imprisonment? It was I, Starscream, the rightful leader of our cause. Not you, the aging relic content to sip the swill they give us and regurgitate your grievances like a lopping servo. Just wait, “My Lord’, just wait._

The scrambler that one of his little darlings had snuck in last time had taken out three of the guards before he and his wingmates were finally subdued. It was close- they had nearly been able to take the shuttle back. Thundercracker had balked at the notion of fragging the lot of femmes. He had always been more ‘bot than ‘con. But Starscream would tolerate that for now. He would lead this rabble one day, not Megatron... and unlike Megatron he had no intention or alienating his potential allies. He’d do whatever it took to get out and claw his way to the top. Red optics gleamed, that smirk morphing to a sensual curve as one of the older guards, Kup was his name came, and shackled his wrists from behind roughly.

“Got another femme up there, Screamer, swears by Primus’ spark she’s your sister. What’s that now, ten? You must’ve had a real busy creator there...” Kup shoved Starscream forward when he felt that there wasn’t enough hustle.

“Careful officer, I might start liking it...” he said dropping his voice to a purr, and a loud wave of catcalls and whistles erupted from the tables inside the massive hall.

“One of these days, glitch, Prime’s gonna grow up and realize you filthy fraggers can’t be saved.” Kup hustled him along with a rough shove from the but of his weapon- a massive shock rifle just as deadly as it looked. _One of these days, old mech, I’ll be sitting at the head of Iacon lining the lot of you up for execution, and when I do, you’re going right after Megatron._

“Perhaps, but not today.” Starscream kept that smile as another push from the gun hit wing, never giving him the satisfaction or being anything other than a model prisoner as he added a bit of extra sway to his step for those still watching. They would never see him kneel again.

As for Megatron and those “fortunate” to be out of scrubbing the filters this afternoon, it was time for “Therapy”.


End file.
